


you make me feel good (I like it)

by transit (dollyeo)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Anxiety Attacks, Childhood Friends, Consensual Underage Sex, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Hyperthymesia, M/M, Magic School, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-01 20:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16291520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollyeo/pseuds/transit
Summary: The long-term side effects of time travel are things Wonwoo has to learn the hard way the older he gets.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waferchoco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waferchoco/gifts).



Wonwoo’s first day at boarding school sucks.

When he’d begged his parents to let him go to the Academy, he’d been so sure it would be everything and more he’d dreamed of. They’d tried to dissuade him at first, telling him that maybe his powers were better suited for _normal_ school, that having the ability to process large amounts of information and retain them for years in his photographic memory could have been some kind of indication of genius instead of a mutation, but Wonwoo had adamantly turned away from the scholarship offers and the prestigious escalator schools with a stubbornness that they’d come to recognize from the age of seven that he’d never get rid of.

“It has to be that school,” Wonwoo had insisted, words garbled in between the tantrums and the plaintive wailing rivaling Bohyuk’s own fits when he’d been a toddler. Thirteen years old and acting like a three year old, the irony. “It _has_ to be.”

“But you’d be so far away from us,” his mother had pointed out, running a hand through the wispy strands of his hair as she tried to make him see reason through appeals to pity. “I’d miss you every day.”

He’d had a brief moment of indecision at her tired eyes, her watery smile. Then, he’d thought of a brighter grin, scrunched up eyes and cheeks swelling with baby fat that never really went away, the lingering promise of _next time_ , and went back to pretending to sob into his pillow.

For all the refinement of his acting abilities, though, he’d had no control over his bad mood that festered since he’d stepped into a room empty of other occupants save himself. He’d been so sure he wouldn’t be alone— wasn’t that what Soonyoung had always told him, from seven to now? _We’re always together, even if we can’t stand each other sometimes_ , he’d said, and he’d been counting on that to be the one constant he’d held close to his heart.

“You can come out now if you want,” he says out loud, glaring daggers at the ceiling, as if he could will the earth and heavens to deliver Soonyoung right at his feet. After a few more minutes of fidgeting in the doorway, he sighs and throws himself on the bed on the left side of the room, right next to the window.

It’s a lonely feeling, being alone in a room without anyone else in it. He still has his luggage to unpack and boxes to wait for when his parents come over with the rest of his stuff this weekend, and while he could occupy himself with exploring the grounds, he finds it’s a lot easier to just sulk the rest of the afternoon and skip the call for dinner, his hunger nourishing his disappointment and annoyance.

He’s gonna strangle Soonyoung the next time he sees him, he thinks, even if he has to go on his tiptoes to do it. _If_ he even sees him again.

He tugs a pillow to his face and screams.

*

_He’s seven years old when he first meets Soonyoung._

_There’s a loud crash in the hallway, and Wonwoo freezes when he hears it. He pauses his game and puts his controller down warily, the whirr of the disc in his PS1 the only sound in the house. His mother warned him to be careful about robbers and to always keep the doors and windows locked when they’re away— Chaerin, the neighbor’s teenage daughter, has been checking up on him every so often while Bohyuk’s still at the hospital with a really bad case of the flu and an infection, but Wonwoo’s been spending his summer vacation cooped up at home and playing games, watching TV and reading comics instead of doing something more productive like actually playing_ outside _like Chaerin keeps nagging him to._

_Now, he’s mildly regretting not listening to her, not when he’s got a potential criminal in the house. He looks around for anything to arm himself with, finally unearthing a (barely used) plastic hammer from his closet before slowly poking his head out of the door._

_He can hear someone rummaging through stuff in his parents’ closet, along with a few muffled curses and a whine of “why do I always have to be_ naked _when this happens?” Oh great. So he has a robber_ and _— what did his dad call them? Oh, right, a pervert— stuck in the same space as him. Suddenly, he wishes he had powers like Son Goku instead of this stupid hyper-whatsitcalled. Ugh._

_Steeling his resolve, he sneaks up to the side of his parents’ room, and when the door swings open, he takes a deep breath, lets out a mighty yell, and starts swinging the toy hammer wildly like a boy possessed._

_“Whoa, ow, ow,_ ow _, what the hell!” The intruder wheezes, shielding his body from Wonwoo’s whacks. “Wonwoo, stop that, I’m gonna_ murder _you when I get back if you don’t stop hitting me!”_

_It’s the call of his name that makes Wonwoo stop, hammer comically poised in the air as he blinks at the stranger with his eyes wide and his mouth agape. “H-how do you know my name?”_

_“God, of course I had to go back to a time he didn’t know me yet,” the stranger mutters, rubbing at his forehead. He’s tall— not as tall as Wonwoo’s dad, for sure, but he’s at least three times Wonwoo’s size, though he looks like he’s swimming in Wonwoo’s dad’s shirt— and he’s got a round face, small eyes, and thin lips that look like they’re permanent jutting out into a pout as he scrunches up his face. It reminds Wonwoo, strangely, of one of the guinea pigs at school that kept nosing around for snacks in its cage, and suddenly the intruder doesn’t seem as terrifying as he did moments before._

_Still, it rankles a bit when he stoops down, bending his knees so he and Wonwoo are at eye-level with each other. “I’m Kwon Soonyoung,” says the stranger, holding a hand out to touch his hand and shake it, “and we’re gonna be really good friends when you grow up.”_

_Wonwoo looks at his hand, then at his smile, widening into a self-assured grin. Then he takes Soonyoung’s hand up to his mouth, and_ bites _him _.__


	2. Chapter 2

He wakes up sometime around half-past eleven, starving and still stewing in his horrible mood even with what sounds like the Pokemon soundtrack playing quietly in the background. And then there’s the sound of chips and soda being guzzled by the other occupant of the room, uncaring of Wonwoo’s plight as he plays on.

Typical Soonyoung.

“I hope those snacks are for me too,” Wonwoo mutters, keeping his eyes closed, “because I’m hungry and tired and more than a little pissed off at you right now.”

There’s the sound of the sheets rustling, and Wonwoo feels more than sees the potato chip launched into the air and hitting his cheek. “Come over here and get some, you lazy ass. I’m not crawling over there to hand-feed you.”

“I’m the injured party here,” Wonwoo grunts, refusing to get up from his nest of blankets and pillows. “You should be making it up to _me_ instead of abusing me like this.”

“What abuse? Older you just made me do the laundry at two in the morning,” says Soonyoung, tone stroppy and argumentative.

The knowledge of it makes Wonwoo’s stomach clench and flutter, his mind already on overdrive and imagining all sorts of reasons for it. And because he’s a masochist for things he can’t have and also makes it his personal agenda to tease and make Soonyoung squirm, he puts on an air of nonchalance and asks, very innocently, “What were you doing before that?”

It doesn’t seem to work, though, Soonyoung just throwing a pillow at him and scowling. Wonwoo bursts into laughter and peels it away from his face, the indignation on Soonyoung’s face enough to appease his annoyance. “You know perfectly why, you horndog!” Soonyoung howls, red-faced. “Don’t make me say it!”

“I’m a _kid_ , how am I supposed to know these things?”

“Fuck you, I already know you’ve been wanking off to me since you learned what a boner was,” says Soonyoung, narrowing his eyes, and it makes the laughter in Wonwoo’s throat die, rapidly replaced with embarrassment and self-consciousness. “I’m not letting you touch me until you’re, like, _fifteen_ at least.”

Fifteen. God. On one hand, Wonwoo’s sure he’s going to expire from too much self-care. On the other hand, that means at least two more years of sticking it out in this god damn boarding school waiting for Soonyoung to come around. His breath hitches in his throat at the thought, and he can feel his lips twitching upwards at the bright spot of Soonyoung possibly arriving sometime within that gap. Two years? One? Maybe less than that? A month? He can’t _wait_.

He tries to school his expression into something more neutral, but Soonyoung can already read him like an open book, and the scowl Soonyoung plasters on his face as he puts Wonwoo’s DS down and marches over to approach him, intent on pummeling him with the only other pillow in his hand until he whines and begs for mercy.

“Ow— Soonyoung— stop— I can’t _breathe_ —”

“That’s for being a pervert,” Soonyoung yells in between whacks of the pillow against Wonwoo’s face, “and that’s for making me miss class today!”

Wonwoo lets him tire himself out, torn between hiccups of laughter and squeals of feigned pain. Then, when Soonyoung’s grip around the pillow slackens, he reaches out to tug him by the front of his shirt and lower until they’re pressed together, chest to chest, forehead to forehead.

Soonyoung fusses in place, belligerent to the end, but he eventually gives up and sags into Wonwoo’s hold. Wonwoo touches his cheek, his jaw, the shell of his ear. He runs his fingers through Soonyoung’s hair— dyed silver this time, making his hair glint under the light— and scoffs.

“You look like an old man like this,” Wonwoo tells him.

Soonyoung jabs him in the gut, a warning. “I _am_ an old man, you brat. And so are you.”

“How old are you now?”

“Guess.”

“Thirty?” He tries, enjoying the way Soonyoung’s eyes squint at him in displeasure. “Forty? A hundred?”

“Watch it, punk,” Soonyoung warns. “I’m gonna make sure older you regrets it if you keep making fun of me like this.”

“So sensitive,” Wonwoo sighs, aggrieved. He cards his fingers through Soonyoung’s hair, fascinated, and bites his lip. “I bet you’re still a teenager with how short-tempered you are.”

In truth, Soonyoung always looks the same in his eyes, not a day older than eighteen; the oldest Soonyoung’s ever been in the times they meet is twenty-five, and even then Soonyoung had just looked like he’d filled out a bit and maybe grown a little taller, but that was it. There’s never really been a time that Wonwoo’s seen him distinctly _older_ , the way his parents look like. It’s a strange thing.

“I’m gonna kick your ass when I get back,” Soonyoung promises, the threat in his tone belying the softness in his eyes. His voice. The warmth of his mouth as he leans closer to press a kiss to Wonwoo’s cheek. “You’re still a mouthy brat no matter what age you are, huh?”

Sometimes, when Soonyoung looks at him like this, Wonwoo feels something in his chest ache a little, bittersweet with longing. “When am I gonna meet you?” He asks; it sounds plaintive, too child-like, and it makes him wince to hear it.

“Soon,” Soonyoung promises. He ruffles Wonwoo’s hair, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he smiles. “You have to promise not to bully me, then. I was a very sensitive kid.”

“You still are,” says Wonwoo. “And I never bully you.”

“Liar, you bully me every day.”

“It’s harmless teasing,” says Wonwoo, scrunching his lips up into a pout that Soonyoung, at one point, had told him made him look cute when he was younger. He doesn’t know if it still works now that he’s a teenager, but he’s counting on the good looks Soonyoung keeps sighing over and bemoaning to make Soonyoung crumble. “I’d tease you more if you just distracted me with something else.”

“What kind of shows have you been watching and who made you watch them?” Soonyoung asks, unimpressed. “If you were trying to be flirty, you’ve failed.”

“I only act cute around people I like,” Wonwoo wheedles. “You should appreciate me more.”

“You’re not cute when you’re being whiny, stupid,” says Soonyoung, sighing as he flicks Wonwoo on the nose and the forehead as he gets up and out of bed. Then he looks at the clock on the wall, something Wonwoo’s only noticed now, even if Soonyoung’s probably seen it a thousand times in the entirety of rooming with Wonwoo in the future. “I have to go soon. The RAs do a night patrol a little past curfew.”

“Nooo,” Wonwoo whines, rolling over to his side and patting the space beside him. “Stay over some more. We can have a sleepover like we always used to.”

Soonyoung looks a little conflicted, like he wants to stay as badly as Wonwoo wants him to, even if he can’t. “Wonwoo,” says Soonyoung, sternly. “Please don’t make this even more difficult than it has to be.”

The sting of rejection comes quick and callous, dampening his mood and removing any trace of the earlier fluttering in his throat, the bubble of happiness in his lungs. His chest feels tight, constricting, like he’s being choked. He hates, hates, _hates_ being alone.

“Fine,” he says, snippy and turning his back to Soonyoung. “I don’t need you here anyway. Just— get out and go back to wherever it is you came from this time.”

“Wonwoo—”

“I mean it,” says Wonwoo, feeling his nose and throat clog up. “Go away, Soonyoung.”

And Soonyoung does— he always does. It doesn’t make it any easier, every time.

*

_Soonyoung’s nursing a bag of ice over his teeth-shaped bruise in the kitchen as Wonwoo struggles to make him instant noodles as an apology, and while he seems to have mostly forgiven Wonwoo, he keeps shaking his head and mumbling about how he’s never going to grow out of his bad habits— whatever that means._

_“So you know me? From the future?” Wonwoo asks, gauging the amount of chili powder he has to put in Soonyoung’s noodles in case he turns out to be harboring a fraud. “And I’m your friend?”_

_“Well, sort of—” Soonyoung hums, and Wonwoo tips more of the packet into the pot. “We’re— we’re together in the future, I can at least tell you that.”_

_“Together?” Wonwoo wrinkles his nose. “What does that mean?”_

_“I’ll tell you when you get a little older,” says Soonyoung, exactly the kind of words Wonwoo hates hearing, so he dumps all of the chili powder into the noodles. “It’s complicated.”_

_“What happens to the you that’s my age when you time travel, then?” Wonwoo wonders. “Does he just stay wherever he is?”_

_Soonyoung falls silent for a bit, contemplative. He looks a little— sad— is the thing, and Wonwoo almost regrets asking. “No, I— I used to travel to the future when I was a kid. It’s a little like trading places with older me.”_

_“Isn’t that scary, though?” Wonwoo wonders. He tries to imagine Soonyoung at seven, trapped in some unknown place without his mom or dad. “I can’t even cross the road without holding someone’s hand!”_

_“It is,” Soonyoung agrees. “But it’s okay. Wonwoo— the you in the future— I’ve told him as much as I can remember about where I’ll be, when it happens.”_

_“Oh,” says Wonwoo. “I hope older me is making noodles for younger you too, then.”_

_“I know he is,” says Soonyoung, laughing. “Somewhere out there, I’m sure older you is taking care of younger me as well as you are.”_

_It makes something in Wonwoo’s chest puff up with pride, and he beams back at Soonyoung as he turns the fire off and transfers the noodles into the pot. And even if Soonyoung makes gagging noises and grimaces at the spice, he still gives Wonwoo a watery smile, like he trusts him._

_That’s the first time Wonwoo learns what it feels like, to be needed by someone outside of his family. It’s also the first time he learns what it feels like to have the inklings of a crush._

_Soonyoung’s kind, and he’s patient, and he doesn’t tell Wonwoo he gets distracted too easily or that he should go outside to play when he tries to teach Soonyoung how to play DDR on his Playstation. Strange intruder or not, he’s fun and he doesn’t seem to be too dangerous, so Wonwoo lets him stay without calling the neighbors and even lets Soonyoung eat a bit of the vegetable crackers and pudding cups he keeps hidden under his bed away from Bohyuk’s grabby hands._

_“Will you come visit me again?” Wonwoo wonders, when Soonyoung tells him he has to go now._

_“Definitely,” says Soonyoung. “You’ll get so sick of me, you’ll be begging me to leave you alone.”_

_“I don’t think I’ll ever do that,” says Wonwoo, honestly. “I like you.”_

_Soonyoung looks surprised at the admission, and he chuckles as he pinches Wonwoo’s cheek. “I like you too,” he says, winking conspiratorially. “I like you the most, Wonwoo-yah.”_

_Wonwoo can feel his stomach flip-flop, and he tries to hide his embarrassment by batting Soonyoung’s hands away._

_Soonyoung ruffles his hair, grin wide, and as Wonwoo starts to put the DDR mat away, Soonyoung speaks, voice suddenly somber._

_“You have to promise me one thing, though, Wonwoo-yah,” says Soonyoung. “Whatever happens, don’t get mad at me for coming to see you, okay?”_

_“Never,” Wonwoo promises, holding out his pinky for Soonyoung to hook his own finger with._

_It’s a promise he won’t be able to keep many, many times._


	3. Chapter 3

The next week passes slowly, long and tortuous.

He makes few friends the first few days— more enemies than acquaintances, really. The boys in class think he’s stuck up, he’s a jerk, his one-word answers and distractedness doing little to endear him to them. They say he’s too frigid, too detached, that he won’t last a year with that kind of attitude around here, not when there’s so many paired projects and group activities that account for a huge chunk of their grades. “He thinks he’s too good for us,” says the boy he’d been paired up with the first time, bragging about it during lunch time within earshot while Wonwoo pretended not to hear with his headphones on. “As if he’s even that great— his power isn’t even that amazing.”

“Are you sure he even has a power? That memory thing could just be a fluke.”

Wonwoo tunes them out, looking out at the window instead and watching the students on the quadrangle intently. Even when one of his classmates flicks a wad of paper at him, he doesn’t look at them. He’s too busy searching for something even more important beyond these idiots to care.

Not like the search is fruitful. Soonyoung from the future is conspicuously absent, though whether by design or incidentally, Wonwoo doesn’t know. “Soon” feels too short, too interminable, and Wonwoo gets tired of waiting early on. He asks around, discreetly checking out extracurriculars in the hopes of spotting Soonyoung, but so far he’s managed to offend more than one club captain with his probing questions suddenly turning into an adamant rejection of their invites to their club. “Are you sure you don’t wanna join the football team?” Choi Seungcheol asks, brows furrowed as he regards Wonwoo with a critical eye. “We have a lot of trips outside the campus, so you can always sneak out if you feel a little cooped up in the dorms, if you know what I mean.”

He looks at Seungcheol’s suggestive grin, then averts his eyes. “Not interested, sorry. I’m not really into sports that much.”

Seungcheol shrugs, clapping a hand over his shoulder, and the heavy weight on his skin makes Wonwoo wince. “Suit yourself. If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

He sees Wonwoo out, then hesitates before speaking again. “Look, I know you’re still adjusting, but— I’ve heard things from some of the guys in the football team, you know? I’ve got nothing against you, but there are some people who aren’t too fond of you, new kid, so you should be more careful about whose toes you step on. It’s a school full of hormonal kids with powers they can’t control, after all,” he snorts, shaking his head.

“Got it,” says Wonwoo, not really listening. Seungcheol’s frown deepens, but he lets it go with a sigh.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, new kid,” says Seungcheol. “If you ever need help, though, don’t be afraid to ask.” He winks at Wonwoo, conspiratorial and sly. “Invincibility’s got a way of scaring more than one person off if you need it in a fight.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” says Wonwoo, politely shutting Seungcheol out.

Maybe he should have paid more attention, then. He’s never been that great at self-preservation with or without Soonyoung, after all.

*

_”Why do you like traveling through time so much?”_

_“Huh?” Soonyoung’s car careens off into the side of the road on the screen, something that Wonwoo genuinely hopes doesn’t reflect on his driving skills in real life, if he even has them. The thing about Soonyoung is that he tends to get flustered easily in the face of new things, new controls, new games, new_ everything _, which makes Wonwoo suspect that even as a kid, Soonyoung’s never really been much for video games or anything involving hand-eye coordination outside of sports._

_He’s good at taekwondo, he claims, which is the only reason Wonwoo tries not to antagonize him too much, but Wonwoo keeps failing at that the older he gets; it’s so easy to just poke fun at Soonyoung when he easily rolls with the punches and doesn’t take much of it to heart, though part of Wonwoo wonders if they even have serious conversations in the future. If there’s anything Soonyoung ever takes seriously about him as an adult instead of as a kid._

_Still, Wonwoo forges on, letting his car steer Soonyoung away and back on the track, only to collide into him again and again, just to pester him. “Yah, Jeon Wonwoo, what are you doing!”_

_“Winning,” says Wonwoo, calmly. “You still haven’t answered my question.”_

_Soonyoung lets out a frustrated yell, and by the time Wonwoo crosses the last lap and emerges victorious, he throws the controller to the side and sulks in his spot on Wonwoo’s beanbag. “You suck and I regret traveling back to see you. I’ll never do it again.”_

_“That’s what you say every time, and yet you keep doing it,” says Wonwoo. He pushes the bridge of his glasses up his nose— a new fixture on his face, something he’s still trying to get used to even if it had made Soonyoung gush the first time— and he looks at Soonyoung’s sulky, pouting face, childish and churlish like he isn’t at least half a decade older than Wonwoo at this point. “It can’t be because you miss me.”_

_“It’d be hard to,” Soonyoung snorts. “I see your ugly mug every day.”_

__And I don’t see you _, Wonwoo thinks, trying not to feel too bitter about that. He’s asked Soonyoung, time and again, if he could reach out to the Soonyoung in his time, if there’s an address or a landmark he could go to just to sneak a peek at his future, but Soonyoung’s evasive about it always, insisting that it will happen when it’s meant to happen. If Wonwoo didn’t know any better, he’d think Soonyoung’s doing it on purpose, not letting him catch sight of Soonyoung now, but there’s nothing that could justify that from happening in Wonwoo’s head. Soonyoung has no reason to keep them away from each other, right?_

_Right?_

_“There’s a lot of different ways to miss someone, though,” Soonyoung’s voice interrupts his thoughts, and Wonwoo cocks his head to the side, peering at Soonyoung curiously. “Maybe I just like to see you when I’m angry at you.”_

_“That’s called running away from your problems,” says Wonwoo, bluntly, and Soonyoung laughs, loud and open._

_“You never change at all,” says Soonyoung. He ruffles the top of Wonwoo’s head, and it makes Wonwoo’s skin rankle, how Soonyoung keeps lording over his size even if Wonwoo’s been getting his growth spurt lately._ Let me have this _, Soonyoung insists all the time,_ you’re too damn tall in the future, I have to tiptoe every time we— _and then he stops, flustered for a reason Wonwoo’s heart soars at and dares to hope, even just the slightest bit, before he changes the subject and tries to annoy Wonwoo into submission instead._

_“I’d be sad if you kept running away from me, though,” says Wonwoo._

_“But aren’t_ you _happy when I do?”_

_Wonwoo looks at his hands as he bites the inside of his cheek, the guilt leaking out of him in droves. He doesn’t have to say anything else, though— Soonyoung just knows, the way he always seems to every time._

_Soonyoung scoops him up in his arms, holding onto him and stroking his back like he’s soothing a cornered cat. “Older you has a hard time understanding it, but it’s not about me running away, even if it feels like it,” says Soonyoung, sounding wistful, and Wonwoo just wants to hold his hand and tell him it’s going to be okay if he just stays. “I think I just want to give you a bit more time with me, that’s all— can’t I be selfish, Wonwoo-yah?”_

__I’m selfish too _, Wonwoo thinks, cupping his ear against Soonyoung’s chest and hearing his heart beat, quietly, a reminder he’s still here._ Be more selfish with me, _please_.

_He can’t seem to say it, though; the words are stuck in his throat, clogged up, like some hidden shame, and it burns in his chest, each lick of fire stinging with the beat of Soonyoung’s heart in his ear. It’s the only thing he’ll ever need and ever want._


	4. Chapter 4

Week five finds Wonwoo cornered in the back of the gym with a few boys from his class glaring daggers at him the whole time as he slumps against the wall, cupping a bruised and bleeding cheek from when one of them had felt it necessary to let him have a taste of what a fist turning into metal felt like when it threw a punch.

It’s not really unexpected. He hasn’t exactly been Mr. Congeniality in the short time he’s been at school, and these are the same faces that have been snidely making remarks to his face during break time. They could have spent the rest of the year in passive-aggressive hell, but the straw that broke the camel’s back, apparently, is Wonwoo’s apparent standoffishness and lacking attempts at social graces being inconclusive deterrents to the admiration of some girls in their class— and unfortunately, one of them is someone one of these dumbasses is interested in.

“If you don’t leave Yoora alone, I’ll make sure you regret ever coming here,” Knucklehead says, bristling all over like an angry cat, and while Wonwoo would want nothing more than to point it out, he’s pretty sure this one can single-handedly freeze his balls to kingdom come. He’s got plans for his functioning dick in the future, thanks.

“She’s not your possession,” he says instead, already bored. “She can do whatever she wants.”

“What, so you like her now?”

“I never said that.”

“Then are you toying with her?” Dumbass— whatever his name is— says, completely missing the point, and Wonwoo just wants to bash his head against the wall. “You think you’re too good for everyone, huh?”

 _I think you’re insecure and lashing out and you have anger issues_ , Wonwoo’s tempted to say, but he’s saved from voicing that out loud by the sound of footsteps, loud and sharp, approaching the gym from a distance.

“What’s going on here?” The stranger demands, voice chilly and booming. From under the shadows of the darkened hallway, it’s a familiar face that emerges, devoid of emotion; the sharp-eyed, perusing look Soonyoung gives them makes Wonwoo’s throat hitch and his fingers fist at his sides, bitterness twisting his insides like it’s still fresh even as his insides clench. “Care to explain what you four freshmen are doing in an area _clearly_ not allowed for students?”

“We were just talking, sunbaenim,” says one of The Idiot’s friends, suddenly as docile as sheep at the sight of an older student wearing a badge on his uniform. “Nothing’s really the matter here.”

“I’m sure,” says Soonyoung, drily, his eyes flicking towards Wonwoo. “Is that why your friend here is thinking about all the threats you’ve been making before I got here?”

They all pale, holding their hands up. “Y-you can read minds?”

“Of course I can,” says Soonyoung, flippantly. “I can do anything I want.”

He walks over to grab Wonwoo’s arm, then tugs him out of the semi-circle he’d been trapped in. “I’m going to let this slide just this once, but the next time I hear or see you guys bothering this kid again, you’re all dead. Got that?”

They don’t stick long enough to hear more than a chorus of stuttered (albeit surly) yeses, and Wonwoo lets Soonyoung lead him to the winding corridors of the senior high building next to the gym before wrenching his wrist away.

Soonyoung stops to look at him, exasperation clear as day on his face, and Wonwoo wants to yell at him, to argue with him, to _kiss_ him until their teeth clack against each other and he leaves a bruising, permanent mark on Soonyoung’s mouth, but he’s not sure which version of Soonyoung this is— he’s never, ever really sure— so he just scowls.

“You never told me you were a telepath,” Wonwoo accuses.

“I was lying out of my ass, idiot,” says Soonyoung, through gritted teeth. He tugs at Wonwoo’s hand again, looking even more annoyed. “Come on, we need to get you to the infirmary. You look like you’ve been punched in the face by a wrecking ball.”

“Technically, that’s not far from the truth,” he says, and he winces when Soonyoung reaches out to touch his wounded cheek, the gentle touch still stinging.

“Guess if you can still talk back, you’ll live,” says Soonyoung, eyebrows knit together in worry despite the careless way he snarks at Wonwoo. “Come on, follow me. I know a shortcut.”

“You really are a student here, huh?” Wonwoo muses.

Soonyoung snorts. “How’d you think we ended up roommates if I wasn’t?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen you at all since I got here.”

“You really need to learn to be more patient, brat. I know I’m hot shit, but it’ll take a while before I outgrow my braces and bad skin, so keep it in your pants.”

“You have _braces_?”

“We can’t all be blessed to have handsome looks from the start,” says Soonyoung, rolling his eyes. He squints at Wonwoo, then shakes his head. “Even with your face messed up like this, you just look like you just stepped out of a drama. _Ugh_.”

“I can’t feel my face anymore,” says Wonwoo, despondently. He picks at the badge on Soonyoung’s lapel, toying with it curiously. “Are you really in the student council?”

“Not really.” Soonyoung shrugs. “I stole this from you, you know.”

“ _I’m_ part of the student council?” Wonwoo asks, skeptically. “I highly doubt that.”

“Trust me, there’s a lot of things in the future you never wanted to do but had to because of your control issues,” says Soonyoung, sounding bitter even with his wry grin, and it makes Wonwoo want to punch himself again just for it.

“What did I do this time?” Wonwoo asks.

Soonyoung gives him a long, considering look, before shaking his head and sighing. “Nothing,” he says, smile as strained as the tightness in his voice. “Let’s just go and get you cleaned up.”

*

_Wonwoo’s twelve years old, the first time he tries to kiss Soonyoung._

_It’s something he’s always seen in the movies— two people pressing their lips together and sighing into the kiss before marching off to their happy ending, and while he’s had abstract imaginings of theoretically kissing someone else in the past, they’ve been nothing but short pecks, little more than harmless shows of affection the same way his mom would kiss him on his cheek on his way to school._

_He watches Soonyoung sleep, face tucked against Wonwoo’s pillow as he dozes. He’s fallen asleep half-way through an (illegal) copy of Ponyo, and Wonwoo’s gotten distracted by the way Soonyoung keeps snoring lightly, making chirruping noises with every exhale. The soft whistle passes through his lips, unbidden, even when normally it’s a struggle for him to even remotely make a semblance of that same sound when he does it on purpose. Wonwoo wants to pinch his lips between his fingers and play with his philtrum until he wakes up to bat his hand away._

_When he crawls closer to Soonyoung, though, he’s struck, suddenly, by the urge to do it; not like a child’s kiss, but a grown-up kiss, long and deep, just like in the movies. He knows Soonyoung kisses him everyday where he comes from, but Wonwoo’s always been greedy, touch-starved, aching for attention. He just wants more than what Soonyoung can give him._

_Leaning on his elbows, he dips his head, trying to match the cupid’s bow of Soonyoung’s mouth with his own. His tongue feels dry in his mouth, his heart hammering in his throat. He closes his eyes, and bends to kiss him._

_Until, of course, Soonyoung lodges his palm between their faces, and Wonwoo’s lips makes contact with his hand instead of his mouth._

_“Didn’t your parents tell you not to do anything to anyone without their permission?” Soonyoung says, eyes still closed._

_Wonwoo scowls and leans back, fidgeting in place. “I just wanted to look at you up close…”_

_“Oh, and does looking involve kissing now?” Soonyoung teases. He cocks one eye open and flicks Wonwoo on the nose, and Wonwoo yelps and tries to bat him away in response. “I never pegged you to be that type.”_

_“So what if I wanted to kiss you?” Wonwoo grumbles. “You told me we kiss all the time!”_

_“If I kissed you the way I kiss older you, your parents would file a restraining order against me and put me behind bars.”_

_“What’s a restraining order?”_

_“Never mind that,” says Soonyoung, sighing. “I’m not kissing you like that, Wonwoo. That’d be weird.”_

_“I’m not weird!”_

_“You totally are, dork.”_

_Something in Wonwoo’s chest twinges, and he has to rub at it to soothe the ache, but it still doesn’t go away. He frowns, disturbed, and Soonyoung at least senses there’s something off with him, enough that he looks at Wonwoo with concern on his face._

_“My mouth hurts,” Wonwoo lies. “I bit on something when you blocked me.”_

_“Did you?” Soonyoung’s frown deepens. “Where does it hurt?”_

_Wonwoo pouts, pointing at his lips. Soonyoung, rolling his eyes, ignores him. “Hey!”_

_“Alright, alright, drama queen,” says Soonyoung, lips twitching upwards in amusement. “Pipe down. I’ll give you a kiss if you promise to shut up and watch the movie.”_

_Wonwoo makes a zipping motion with his fingers, looking up at Soonyoung with wide eyes, expectant. It morphs into a scowl when Soonyoung just presses a placating kiss to the corner of his mouth, nothing more, nothing less._

_“When I grow up, I’ll make you regret this,” he warns._

_“Do your worst,” Soonyoung bites back. “You’ll never be able to resist me.”_

_That’s what Wonwoo’s afraid of and counting on at the same time. He can’t wait until he grows up._


	5. Chapter 5

The alcohol stings less than the ache in his chest, blistering.

It’s all Wonwoo can think about in the silence as Soonyoung cleans up his wounds, clumsy fingers ill-equipped to patch him up. “I don’t really do a lot of first aid,” says Soonyoung, voice hushed as he instructs Wonwoo to stay still so he can hold a bag of ice against his cheek. “I’m the one who’s mostly on the receiving end while you nag at me the whole time.”

Wonwoo wonders what kind of stuff Soonyoung even gets up to in the future, or if he’s still doing it even now. He thinks about who would do this for that Soonyoung, if there’s even anyone— and it just makes the ache crest and wane, like tides tugging at both ends of his heart.

Sometimes, he wishes he’d had the gift of precognition instead of retroactively jogging through a flood of memories he doesn’t know if he wants to keep. In his mind’s eye, he can cycle through all of the times Soonyoung’s dyed his hair, green, blue, brown, red, pink, blonde, flashes of color he tries to piece through in his fictional timeline that Soonyoung doesn’t want to reveal more of. As open as he is about little tidbits of Wonwoo’s life, he’s quiet about his own, dealing out details sparingly, when it’s all Wonwoo feels greedy for. And even now, he doesn’t know what it is that drives Soonyoung to appear, again and again, unbidden, unannounced.

Waiting is tiring.

Soonyoung smacks him upside the head, and Wonwoo jerks back in surprise. “Stop looking at me like that,” Soonyoung demands, jabbing a finger at his chest.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re some kicked puppy being punished for something you didn’t do!” Soonyoung huffs. “This would never have happened if you weren’t being so _you_.”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” says Wonwoo, defensively.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Soonyoung says. “You haven’t done _anything_ since you got here except mope like a baby.”

“I wouldn’t be moping if you were here more often,” Wonwoo points out. “You’re taking forever to show up.”

“I told you, it’ll happen in its own time—”

“I _know_ that,” says Wonwoo, scowling. “Doesn’t mean I like it.” His shoulders sag as he slumps in the chair, and he scratches at his knee. “I feel lonely here.”

Soonyoung’s expression softens at the admission, and he puts a hand over Wonwoo’s. “Baby, I’m sorry you’re lonely,” he coos. “It’ll get better soon, I promise.”

“Can’t you visit me more?”

“But if I did, _he’d_ be lonely, too.”

“I don’t care,” says Wonwoo, churlishly. “I’m so lonely, I’m gonna _die_.”

Whatever wheedling Soonyoung’s been willing to put up with seems to shutter in itself and collapse, and he looks at Wonwoo with a critical eye. “Don’t say things like that,” he says, icily. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

Wonwoo bites the inside of his unbruised cheek and stares at a spot on the wall behind Soonyoung’s shoulder. Most of the time when Soonyoung reprimands him for saying or doing something out of line, it’s playful, usually accompanied by a loud, _aish, Jeon Wonwoo, what am I going to do with you?_ even as he coddles him, always quick to give in. The times Soonyoung’s far from entertained or tolerant of his caprices are few and far in between, and sometimes Wonwoo can see what it is, exactly, that might prove true in Soonyoung’s claims that he’d only run away when the arguments got too much. When everything felt too suffocating to breathe.

And Wonwoo— Wonwoo’s more afraid of driving him away than anything else.

Cowed into silence, he just holds onto the bag of ice, regret rolling in waves inside his stomach as sharply as the spike of rebellion and stubbornness simmering, low in his belly. Soonyoung doesn’t stop looking at him like he’s disappointed, like he’s expecting more from Wonwoo, but Wonwoo doesn’t know what Soonyoung wants— he’s only thirteen. Is it so bad to be selfish?

“You’re sulking again,” says Soonyoung, without heat or malice now. He just sounds exhausted. “You never change.”

“I’m sorry,” says Wonwoo, suddenly feeling very small.

Soonyoung shakes his head. “You don’t even know what you’re sorry for.”

“Sorry,” Wonwoo echoes. He reaches out to tug at the hem of Soonyoung’s blazer, plaintive, before crumpling it up into his curled-up fist. “Don’t leave me yet.”

The determined set of Soonyoung’s jaw unclenches, and Wonwoo knows he’s back in Soonyoung’s good graces when he sighs and lets him tug his body closer.

“It’s getting harder and harder to say no to you, you brat,” says Soonyoung, closing his eyes.

Wonwoo doesn’t care. He’s still here with him, right here, right now anyway.

*

_”Has anyone ever told you you’re not cute when you’re throwing a tantrum?”_

_“You say it all the time,” says Wonwoo, voice muffled as he buries himself under his blankets, willing the earth to swallow him up. And he hopes it does— he’s eleven years old and he’s just soiled his sheets, and it’s mortifying how Soonyoung had just gathered the mess he’d left on his sheets, stripping them off and replacing them with fresh ones before taking care of it in the laundry._

_“Relax,” says Soonyoung. “This happens all the time, bud.”_

_“I’m in fourth grade,” Wonwoo wails. “I’m not supposed to pee in my sleep!”_

_Soonyoung laughs, and the sound of it makes Wonwoo want to burrow deeper into his mattress. “It’s not pee, don’t worry,” he says. “You just had your first wet dream. Congrats on finally entering puberty!”_

_“A_ what _?”_

_“Look it up on Naver or ask your parents about it,” says Soonyoung. “Whatever you do, don’t download a VPN and look for porn yet. It’s illegal.”_

_“… What?”_

_“I feel like a proud parent now,” says Soonyoung, wiping an imaginary tear on his face. Then he thinks better of it, scrunching his nose up. “Never mind, that’s so weird. I can’t believe I just said that about my boyfriend.”_

_Wonwoo emerges from his pile of blankets, wide eyed. “We’re_ boyfriends?”

_“Oh, fu—dge,” Soonyoung finishes, wincing. He crosses his arms, tipping his chin up. “Okay, the cat’s out of the bag now. I’m your annoying significant other from the future! Surprise?”_

_“H-how?” Wonwoo stammers. “When? Where?_ Why _?”_

_“Your vote of confidence is very inspiring,” says Soonyoung, snidely, but his shoulders seem to sag just a little at Wonwoo’s incredulity. “Listen, kid, when two boys love each other very much—”_

_“I already know that part!” Wonwoo protests, blushing. “I just— I never would have guessed—”_

_“That you were into me all this time?” Soonyoung asks, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, you keep telling me the same thing every time.”_

_His face still feels warm all over, suffocating, even, when he wraps the blankets around himself again. “So do we… hold hands… and kiss… and stuff?”_

_“No, we live in abstinence and only meet once a year,” says Soonyoung, sounding bored. At Wonwoo’s wide-eyed stare, he raps at Wonwoo’s head, as if checking to see if his brain still works. “Of course we do! You’re as clingy as a python, Jeon Wonwoo.”_

_“Oh,” says Wonwoo, voice small. He looks at Soonyoung’s hand, and then at his own sweaty ones, shaking. “Then can you hold my hand right now? Please?”_

_“I hold your hand every day, you dork,” says Soonyoung, but the harshness of his words belies the gentle way he takes Wonwoo’s clammy fingers into his, encasing them in his warmer hands. “_ Now _will you stop freaking out about having a sex dream and just look me in the eye already?”_

_“Yeah,” says Wonwoo, voice tight, like he can’t breathe._

_He can’t tell Soonyoung what or who it is he’s dreamed of, before he’d woken up by the sticky mess in his pajamas._ Can’t _._

_It’s a secret he’ll take to his grave, no matter how many times Soonyoung tells him it’s okay, it’s perfectly normal. He’ll never, ever tell Soonyoung how much power he has over him.  
 _


	6. Chapter 6

Wonwoo tries to adjust.

It’s not so much the lure of improving his embarrassing social life at school that drives him as it is Soonyoung’s increasing threats of never seeing him again if he doesn’t do it. “You’re too dependent on me, Wonwoo-yah,” says Soonyoung, shaking his head. “I can’t have you clinging to me all the time, not when you’re ignoring the rest of the world when I’m around.”

“But I don’t wanna hang out with them,” says Wonwoo, whining. “I wanna hang out with _you_.”

Soonyoung smacks him upside the head, right before shoving his phone to his chest. “There, I told Seungcheol-hyung you’re meeting him for a quick game of Warcraft. Have fun.”

“You’re older than he is,” Wonwoo points out, but he lets himself get booted out of his dorm room anyway.

It’s not as much of a pain as he originally dreads it to be to hang out with Seungcheol and his friends— they’re nice enough, and they don’t mind the kind of trash talk Wonwoo tends to absorb himself in competitive games, even goading him and egging him on with each session. One hour turns to two, then to three, until they emerge from the PC bang to run back to the dorms in time for curfew, and Seungcheol ruffles his hair and tells him he’s kinda cool for a new kid, making Wonwoo’s lips twitch upwards into a grin.

He makes other friends his age over time, friends like Lee Jihoon from choir and Wen Junhui, the animal shifter who Wonwoo had almost adopted when he’d seen Junhui taking a quick catnap on the rooftop. There’s Seungcheol’s friends from the upper year, too, and it’s enough to make the rest of the year less painstaking then it has to be, to find other people he can lean on than himself.

And then, there’s Soonyoung.

Freshman year comes and goes, and there’s still no sign of him in middle school. Wonwoo checks with the homeroom teachers, fishes around the other classes during school festivals for a sign of a time traveler, but the closest he gets is a teleporter and a psychic, which isn’t really the same thing. No Soonyoung at school or anywhere else, except maybe in Wonwoo’s room, playing Pokemon and leeching off of Wonwoo’s snacks, hidden away from the rest of the world.

“Are you sure you exist?” Wonwoo asks, fourteen years old and hitting yet another growth spurt, but still easily elbowed in the gut by Soonyoung.

“I’m right _here_ , asshole,” Soonyoung mutters, throwing him an annoyed glance before getting distracted by the appearance of a rare pokemon. “Hold that thought. I’m ignoring you until I catch this Minccino.”

Wonwoo sighs, resting his head on Soonyoung’s lap and staring at him. Soonyoung, too used to him by now, doesn’t even notice, still fixated on his game. He looks a little younger than usual, so close to Wonwoo’s age— or is it because it’s Wonwoo that’s growing up now, inching the gap slowly? He can’t tell.

“Everyone thinks I’m making you up,” says Wonwoo, softly. “I’ve had to turn down dates because of you, but it’s taking forever for me to meet you.”

“You can date whoever you want,” says Soonyoung, shrugging.

“But I want to date _you_.”

“You already are, dumbass.”

“It’s not the same.”

Soonyoung puts Wonwoo’s DS down until he catches his eye, eyebrows raised high. “We practically live in each other’s pockets. We share save files like no one’s business. You’ve seen me snore and drool in my sleep. How is it not the same?”

But this Soonyoung doesn’t let Wonwoo kiss him like a lover, doesn’t treat Wonwoo as anything more than a kid; for all intents and purposes, Wonwoo really _is_ a kid to him, like some annoying younger brother of _his_ boyfriend instead of the same person. And Wonwoo— Wonwoo wants, so badly, for Soonyoung to look at him _like that_. He wants everything he can get, greedy to the end.

“It just isn’t,” he insists instead, and he shakes his head when Soonyoung just looks at him, confused.

It’s hard to put things into words the more you feel them, and he feels so, so much for Soonyoung, overflowing to the brim. So much, and not enough.

“Just wait a little longer, Wonwoo-yah,” says Soonyoung, not unkindly. “It’s not gonna kill you to wait, won’t it?”

Wonwoo tucks his head against Soonyoung’s thigh, nosing at his skin. Soonyoung cards his fingers through his hair, running through his scalp with a gentle touch that makes Wonwoo come undone.

“I won’t be around forever, but I promise— I’d do anything to make you happy, even if you hate it,” Soonyoung whispers into his ear, and Wonwoo shuts his eyes and prays it’s one he doesn’t break.

*

_Wonwoo’s favorite guinea pig dies at school when he’s eight._

_Soonyoung lets him stage a funeral without a corpse in the backyard, digging a small hole large enough to house the stone Wonwoo picks up from his mom’s garden, roughly the size of the guinea pig for him to deposit. He even recites a eulogy for the fictional animal, voice somber and steady as he holds Wonwoo’s hand through the ceremony. He brings out a tissue from the pockets of Wonwoo’s dad’s shorts he’s pilfered this time, telling Wonwoo to blow when the snot and mucus gets too much._

_He doesn’t tell Wonwoo to stop crying, and he doesn’t call Wonwoo a baby for it, either. “I lost my cat when I was twelve,” he says, one of the few things he ever tells Wonwoo about himself, elusive and secretive like the world would tip over and crack if he so much as gives Wonwoo a hint. “I cried so hard I got so dehydrated, my mom had to take me to the ER afterwards.”_

_“Does it ever get easy?” Wonwoo asks, face splotchy and red all over. Soonyoung wipes a stray tear from the corner of his eyes, then rubs the damp spot on his shorts to wipe it off._

_“Death never comes easy,” says Soonyoung, softly. “It just gets easier to prepare for it when you kinda know, I think.”_

_“How do you know?”_

_“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” says Soonyoung, lips quirking up in jest. He ruffles the top of Wonwoo’s head, just a bit above his waist. “You’ll find out eventually. You’re smart like that.”_

_“If I were smart, I would have known he was gonna die,” says Wonwoo, voice cracking._

_“He was old, and it was his time,” says Soonyoung. He gets this far-off look in his eyes, like he’s trying to remember something he can’t quite place, a feeling Wonwoo’s always seen on other people but never felt for himself. “What I meant was that you’re a different kind of smart. A special kind of smart. Don’t let anyone else tell you you’re not special, okay?”_

_“Okay,” says Wonwoo, obediently._

_“Good boy,” says Soonyoung, beaming down at him. His tone turns cavalier, as if the seriousness of earlier were just a fleeting thing, like he’s trying to distract Wonwoo, but for what? “Now come on, let’s go get some ice cream and find something else to play with.”_

_Wonwoo doesn’t get to ask, not yet. He just holds onto Soonyoung’s hand and follows._


	7. Chapter 7

Wonwoo’s fifteen when he falls in love a second time.

He’s on the platform waiting for a train bound for home when he sees him; at first, there’s nothing that particularly catches his eye, just a bunch of people crowded around the opposite platform, but it’s the voice that catches his ear, achingly familiar through all this time. It makes his insides clench and freeze, so, so sudden, it burns.

“Mom, I _told_ you, I’m fine— I can take the train back. It’s just an interview, okay? It’s not like it’s a guarantee I’ll even get accepted.”

At first, Wonwoo doesn’t even dare to look up; he can feel the gears in his head working even as his throat clenches up, but the pull of possibility is too strong for him to _not_ look. And when he does, he almost forgets how to breathe; he stuffs his phone in his pocket and starts to make his way out of his side of the platform and towards the other end, all for a gangly teenager in an oversized red jacket and a haircut that looks like something straight out of an emo indie band that Wonwoo’s _never_ gonna let him live down. He keeps fussing at his bangs, hands peeking out of his jacket like cat paws, and Wonwoo wants to yank at his hoodie and fix it for him, to backhug him and never let go.

He blames it on distance, on being starved for touch— it’s been a while since he’s seen Soonyoung, their meetings dishearteningly brief and sparsely spaced out. He’d wanted to say something every time, but Soonyoung had looked so exhausted, frayed at the edges like it was taking too much energy to even move, so he’d bit back the complaints, the whining, the things that made Soonyoung scoff at him like he was a kid instead of the adult he was trying to become.

It hadn’t lessened the ache one bit.

He speeds up into a sprint, eyes tracking the countdown to the next train. _God_ , he thinks, _don’t let him get on that train. Please, please,_ please _don’t let him leave me yet, not now._

By the time he gets to the other platform, though, he’s too late. His mouth feels full of cotton when he catches sight of the incoming train, and in a rush of feeling and impulse, he yells, “Soonyoung-ah! Don’t get on that train!”

Soonyoung’s hooded head tips up the slightest, but he doesn’t seem to hear Wonwoo. Wonwoo curses under his breath and tries to shout his name again, but he’s quickly drowned out by the PA system and the rush of people coming out of the train and marching towards his direction, fixated on the exit.

He’s gone by the time Wonwoo finally pushes past the crowd, the doors to the train closing before Wonwoo can board. The feeling of disappointment churns in Wonwoo’s gut, lingering, a strange contradiction to the rush of hope and the realization that Soonyoung really _does_ exist in his time, that he’s not just some lost time traveler with a mission to drive Wonwoo insane with want. _He’s here_ , Wonwoo thinks, palm coming up to touch his chest, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down. _He’s here, and I’ve lost him_.

“Uh, dude?” Comes a curious voice, tapping him on the shoulder. “I think you dropped your beanie.”

Wonwoo turns around, throat dry. His heart. It won’t stop beating. He reaches out, blindly, and the beanie falls from the other’s hand with a yelp as Wonwoo tugs him closer.

“Kwon Soonyoung,” Wonwoo wheezes, curling his fingers around a terrified Soonyoung’s wrist, tightly. “I finally found you.”

And then he kisses him, right in the middle of that platform, slow and deep.

*

_”Have you ever had your first kiss?”_

_Wonwoo asks this curiously as they watch the prince on the TV screen bend down to kiss the princess in the glass case. Snow White isn’t really his thing, but his mom’s been trying to get Bohyuk interested in Disney movies lately, and there’s only so many CDs they can go through before they have to repeat the cycle._

_Soonyoung stops chewing on his popcorn, looking at Wonwoo with wide eyes. “What?”_

_“Your first kiss,” Wonwoo repeats, blinking at him. “I had mine with a cat, once. It was so cute, I couldn’t help but give it lots of kisses.”_

_“No wonder you’re a kiss monster when you grow up,” Soonyoung mutters. He shovels a handful of popcorn into his mouth, then chews some more before swallowing. “I had mine when I was fifteen in a train station. And then I slapped the other person because _clearly_ sane people don’t kiss strangers out of nowhere.”_

_Wonwoo gasps, eyes wide. “You were kissed by a stranger?”_

_“Well, technically,_ no _, but still—” Soonyoung bops him on the nose, looking so serious Wonwoo’s almost afraid. “Whatever you do, don’t kiss strangers out of nowhere, okay? Not even when you really,_ really _want to.”_

_“Okay,” Wonwoo agrees. He cocks his head to the side, curious. “Was it nice?”_

_Soonyoung turns pink all over, from his ears to his cheeks, past his throat. Lower. “It was very nice.”_

_Wonwoo doesn’t know what it is that churns in his stomach at that— it’s the same feeling he gets whenever his parents pay more attention to Bohyuk, or when the cats from the cat café wander off to other people, but he doesn’t like it._

_“That’s good,” he lies. “I still think my first kiss is better, though.”_

_Soonyoung looks at him, beaming, before pinching his cheek. “Of course it is, baby,” he says. “It definitely is.”_


	8. Chapter 8

In retrospect, maybe kissing Soonyoung in public is a bad idea.

He’s nursing a wounded cheek that’s blistering red all over, but at least he’s seated in a café with a fidgety Soonyoung in front of him— a Soonyoung that looks simultaneously apologetic and mutinous at once that it almost makes Wonwoo laugh at how familiar it looks. How easy it is to sink into it.

“Well, this is awkward,” says Soonyoung, blunt as ever, breaking the silence after he’d handed Wonwoo an iced americano and gotten an overly sweet frappucino for himself. “Never thought I’d meet you like this, to be honest. I was thinking we’d have one of those boring meet-cutes at school, not _this_.”

Wonwoo’s eyes flicker to the way he keeps biting on his lip, and Soonyoung flushes, right before crumpling up the receipt on the table and throwing it at his face. “My eyes are up here!” Soonyoung says, heatedly pointing at the upper half of his face. “ _Here_!”

“It’s pretty hard to miss with how small they are,” says Wonwoo, chin propped up on his palm as he watches Soonyoung’s face redden for an entirely different reason. “Are you shorter than me right now? God, it feels so good to look down on you for once.”

“Wow, you really _are_ annoying,” says Soonyoung, drily, and averts his eyes as he slurps his drink. “And here I thought future you was bad enough.”

“Why? What did I ever do to you other than take care of you?” Wonwoo hazards a guess, and from the slightly guilty look on Soonyoung’s face, a part of him is pleased; the other half of him, though, is only slightly jealous, and all for irrational reasons. “What was it like? Am I still the same?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve only met you for,” Soonyoung looks at his watch, “ _an hour and a half_ , before you decided to _violate_ my _purity_ in a public place!”

Wonwoo scrunches his nose up and tosses his head back, unable to stop the laughter bubbling in his chest. When he calms down enough, he meets Soonyoung’s surprised expression, like he can’t quite put a finger on him just yet.

“What?” Wonwoo asks, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “What is it?”

Soonyoung hesitates, before folding his hands on his lap. “You laugh more than I’m used to,” says Soonyoung. “It’s… strange.”

“So I’m more serious in the future, then?”

“No, not really serious,” says Soonyoung, biting the inside of his cheek. He juggles the half-empty cup in his hand, looking at its contents with a glum expression. “Just disappointed, I guess.”

Whatever it is that must be in future him’s head, Wonwoo hates it— an irrational surge of anger flares up in his insides at himself, for the lost look on Soonyoung’s face. The indecision warring his features. He doesn’t want Soonyoung to look at him like that ever again.

He reaches out to touch the back of Soonyoung’s hand, fingers resting on his knuckles lightly. “I probably lost my sense of humor along the way,” says Wonwoo, an apology as much as a joke. “I can’t imagine why, though. I can’t tell you how happy I am to finally see you.”

Soonyoung’s answering smile is watery, even with his mocking tone. “Guess I just drive you crazy, huh?”

He has no idea just how true it is. Absolutely none.

*

_Sometimes Soonyoung looks at him like he’s trying to memorize every expression he makes._

_He looks at him like that when he’s crying in front of a sad movie, when he’s laughing over something Soonyoung says or does. Sometimes, he does it when Wonwoo’s staring, awe-struck, at the window of a pet shop where kittens are trying to lick his palm through the glass, and the excited wave of his hands makes Soonyoung put up his fingers in a box, like he’s trying to take a photo in his mind._

_Wonwoo doesn’t get it, though— after all, he’s the one with that kind of power, not Soonyoung. “You’re not gonna remember anything if you don’t take a picture, dummy,” he says with the authority of a nine-year old trying to teach an adult_ things _. “Those last longer.”_

_“But I want to take a picture of your snot-filled face in my heart,” says Soonyoung, tone teasing as he lets Wonwoo blow his nose into a tissue after the nth rerun of a dubbed version of Hachiko Monogatari. “You’re cute when you’re more honest about your feelings, Wonwoo-yah.”_

_“I’m always honest,” he says sniffing. “Mom says being a liar gives you a one-way ticket to hell.”_

_“Your mom teaches you a lot of questionable shi—_ stuff _,” Soonyoung amends, “but I guess she’s right about that.”_

_Wonwoo mulls over this, then looks up at Soonyoung with a pout on his lips. “Am I not honest about my feelings when I’m older?”_

_“Nah, you still are,” says Soonyoung, rubbing at his red-rimmed eyes. “A little_ too _honest, if you ask me. Guess it’s why we kinda fight a lot, sometimes.”_

_Wonwoo bites his lip, hesitating before he opens his mouth. “Is it that bad?”_

_“It could be better,” is all Soonyoung tells him, but he’s quick to appease Wonwoo’s stricken expression with a soothing touch to his cheek. “It’s me that’s the problem, I guess. I always tell you things a little too late.”_

_“Why?”_

_“I don’t know,” says Soonyoung, shrugging. “Sometimes, it’s easier not to say anything, especially when you know you’re not gonna say anything good.”_

_Wonwoo squints at him. “But isn’t that lying?”_

_“I guess it is,” Soonyoung concedes. “But it’s not that bad when you’re only leaving things out to not make anyone unhappy.”_

_He holds Wonwoo close, stroking the back of his head soothingly, like he’s lulling him to sleep. Wonwoo’s eyes flicker, open and close, open and close, before finally giving into the quiet. “And I always,_ always _want you to be happy,” he whispers into his ear._

_He’s gone by the time Wonwoo wakes up, a nest of blankets and clothes left in his wake, like he’s never been there in the first place. It’s something Wonwoo never gets to ask him about afterwards, not for a very long time._

_Maybe he should have, then. He really, really should have._


	9. Chapter 9

He sees Soonyoung the next weekend. And the next. And the next.

Soonyoung’s technically not a student yet, still going through admissions hell for senior high in comparison to Wonwoo, who’s a shoe-in within the escalator system, but Wonwoo’s friends help him sneak into the dorms under the guise of being their guest, just to elude the suspicious eyes of the RAs steadfastly drilling on them the (discreetly often broken) rule of _no illicit activities allowed in the premises of the dorm_.

Not like it’s ever followed; there are at least half a dozen open secrets on Wonwoo’s floor alone, ill-advised hookups and indiscreet relationships formed in the privacy of some of the solo rooms or swapped out under the guise of favors, but Wonwoo’s safe from the judgmental look of a roommate when he drags Soonyoung into his room one Saturday afternoon after Soonyoung’s dance classes and kisses him with heady want he’d bitten back for weeks now.

“Don’t you think we’re going a little too fast?” Soonyoung pants into his arm, jacket and shirt bunched up around his chest and pants hastily peeled off by Wonwoo’s antsy fingers. Soonyoung bites down to stifle his incoming whimper as Wonwoo’s hand snakes down to fist at his cock, slick with lotion to make the slide easier, and the way his hips rock back against Wonwoo’s lap makes Wonwoo swear under his breath, his own erection hot and heavy against Soonyoung’s backside. He’s never felt so hard in his life, not even the first time he’d looked at older-Soonyoung shrug on a spare tank top of Wonwoo’s that finally fit him, clavicles well-defined and a hint of a dusky nipple peeking out every time he stretched and yawned in place.

“We’ve been on five dates,” Wonwoo muses, unable to keep the smug smirk off of his face as Soonyoung’s hips stutter in their movement and his thighs spread wider to give him more access as he grinds against him. It’s messy and uncoordinated, more feeling than technique or actual skill, but Wonwoo’s so fucking horny he’s going to _die_ if he doesn’t get them both off soon. “Six, if you count the first time we got coffee together.”

“I’ve never even done anything with anyone but you,” Soonyoung wails, half-sobbing, half-shuddering. “I don’t have a barometer for comparison!”

Wonwoo hisses, nosing at Soonyoung’s ear and relishing in his shiver. “I know you’re trying to make that sound like a joke, but that just sounded hot in my head.”

He ends up making Soonyoung come messily into his sheets with a fist over the head of his cock and two experimental fingers in his ass, and then makes him come again with a sloppy blowjob that makes Soonyoung arch his back and his fingers dig bruising marks into the meat of Wonwoo’s shoulder. By the time he’s worked Soonyoung open enough to take him, he’s half-hard again and coming dry as he clenches around Wonwoo’s cock, hot and tight and pliant with each thrust, skin to skin, ankles locked around Wonwoo’s back, hands gripping the back of Wonwoo’s head, mouth whispering a litany of his name, a prayer and a curse all at once. And Wonwoo wonders, when he’s balls deep in Soonyoung and making him cry out, if this is what it means, to love violently and without recompense. The stars align and splinter; the earth cracks and shakes even as it slots into place. Suddenly, maddeningly, he’s in love.

*

_“I saw you yesterday.”_

_Soonyoung hand stills above Wonwoo’s head, and Wonwoo sighs and nudges his head up against Soonyoung’s palm. “Oh?” Soonyoung asks, voice level and even, unfazed. “Did I still have my braces?”_

_“Just retainers,” says Wonwoo. “It kinda makes trying to make out with you difficult, but I’ll find a way to work around that.” Soonyoung smacks him upside the head, and Wonwoo rubs at his forehead. “Ow!”_

_“I’ve wanted to do that for_ years _,” says Soonyoung, full of feeling. He looks at his reddening palm, then frowns. “Why does it feel like it’s not enough?”_

 _“You told me your first kiss was_ very nice _,” he mimics, and Soonyoung’s face twists into one of annoyance. “That was me, wasn’t it?”_

_“No, it was an idol trainee in Myeongdong station,” says Soonyoung, sarcasm dripping in his tone. “Of course it was you! Who did you think it was?”_

_“I don’t know,” says Wonwoo. “It’s not like you every told me anything important when I was a kid!”_

_“Well, aren’t you glad you’re finding these things out for yourself?” Soonyoung asks, sniffing. “I’m not gonna spoon feed you every little thing that happens to us, no matter how many times you beg for it.” He purses his lips, nose scrunching up as he mutters under his breath. “It’s not like you ever told_ me _anything…”_

_Sometimes he forgets that this Soonyoung is the same Soonyoung that’s met him, again and again, an interminable amount of times in the far-off future. He thinks of the Soonyoung he’d met at the train station, wrapped up in layers and fidgety, restless, uneasy even in his own skin. How this Soonyoung is more composed, with none of his teenage anxiety._

_Maybe he’s just learned how to hide it better, in the same way present-Soonyoung keeps looking at him like he’s not sure how to react in the face of Wonwoo’s laughter. Just what, exactly, is wrong with him in the future?_

_Why does Soonyoung keep coming back?_

_He turns his head to look at Soonyoung, a question on the top of his tongue._ How bad is it? _He wants to ask._ What happened to us? __

_It’s not any of those things that leave his mouth, though, his voice cracking with every syllable. “Soonyoung-ah,” he says, weakly, instead. “You’ll tell me if there’s anything wrong, won’t you?”_

_Soonyoung laughs, like he’s seven again and asking about Wonwoo wondering if the older version of him ever takes care of him, too. Like it’s an absurd question to even ask._

_“Let’s be happy in the future together, Wonwoo-yah.”_

_It’s not the answer he’s looking for, but it should be enough for now._


	10. Chapter 10

The next few months pass by like a dream, and Wonwoo feels like he’s floating through it in a haze.

Even as he holds Soonyoung’s hand as Soonyoung whines and gripes about impending senior high school entrance exams and acceptance letters that have yet to arrive, Wonwoo still feels like he’s in a permanent bubble of contentment, undisturbed. Soonyoung’s expressed, more than once, an irrational desire to throw his textbooks at Wonwoo’s face, but Wonwoo just peppers the tips of his fingers with kisses, lets his mouth trail up his knuckles, his palm, past the inside of his wrist to keep Soonyoung quiet, and it works, Soonyoung losing track of his words as he stares, flustered, at the curve of Wonwoo’s mouth.

The honeymoon phase is _amazing_ at shutting Soonyoung up.

The juniors in his club tell him he’s way more approachable now, though; that he’s softer instead of the sharp-tongued exasperation they’d been so used to before. Seungcheol slings an arm over his shoulder and sighs over how people in love are so transparent, so insensitive to the rest of the singles doomed to witness their happiness.

“I’m not that annoying,” Wonwoo protests, turning to Jihoon and Junhui for back-up. “Am I?”

“You are,” they chorus, Jihoon long-sufferingly, Junhui overly enthused. Wonwoo flips them a finger in response, then abandons them to their own pursuits in favor of sneaking out of the dorms to pick Soonyoung up from cram school, just so he can slot their fingers together and hold his hand the entire time he walks him to the station.

He still misses the older Soonyoung, sometimes— misses the barbed turns of their conversations, the keen sense of wit sharpened over time. Fifteen-year-old Soonyoung has a tendency to second guess himself, to hold back some of the things he wants to say around Wonwoo, like he’s more used to being careful about the things he says or doesn’t say, but it’s a habit Wonwoo’s trying to wean off of him, slowly. It’s a work-in-progress.

“You don’t always have to be so careful around me,” he tells him after he kisses Soonyoung like he’s something soft and precious and all his to keep before they have to part at the train station, apart again until the end of exam season, this time. “I’m not gonna leave you if you say something dumb or whatever.”

“ _You’re_ dumb or whatever,” Soonyoung shoots back, heatedly, before he drags Wonwoo’s lips back to meet his and closes his eyes.

And so time passes, just like that— a flurry of sighs and kisses into each other’s mouth, only feeling coming first. When Soonyoung gets into the Academy’s senior high program, Wonwoo’s right there, waiting for him, like he always has.

Nothing else has come so easy.

*

_”Why is school so hard?” Fourteen-year-old Wonwoo whines as he rests his cheek against his study table, staring at his Algebra homework and seeing nothing in all of the formulas._

_Soonyoung peeks over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. Then he scoffs and taps his finger against the first equation, rolling his eyes._

_“The answer is x=5, y=3,” he tells Wonwoo, and Wonwoo blinks blearily at him before obediently writing down his words. “You’re not gonna get full points without the solution, you know.”_

_“You just did mental math in your head,” says Wonwoo. “That’s not fair.”_

_“Nothing in life is fair,” says Soonyoung, sagely, before he cracks and starts laughing instead. “You’ve always been really bad at numbers, Wonwoo-yah.”_

_“Words are easy,” Wonwoo mumbles, glaring at his worksheet. “Numbers make no sense.”_

_“I can already hear so many scientists rolling in their graves,” says Soonyoung._

_“I don’t get why I have to learn this instead of how to control my powers,” Wonwoo complains. “What am I gonna use this for, even?”_

_“Aren’t you supposed to be the one with the super genius skills? Shouldn’t this be considered as practice?”_

_“I can’t do anything with it if I only memorize it instead of learning.”_

_“Then you’re doomed,” Soonyoung concludes. “At this rate, you’ll never make it past junior high.”_

_“It’s fine,” says Wonwoo. “I’ll just depend on you in the future. You can keep me alive until we’re old and grey.”_

_Soonyoung doesn’t answer, and for a moment, Wonwoo almost thinks he’s pulled a disappearing act again, yanked back into his timeline sporadically by the powers that be. When he raises his head to check, though, Soonyoung’s just looking at him, eyes glassy, face unreadable. Then his expression crumples, and he closes his eyes._

_“Soonyoung-ah?” Wonwoo asks, tentatively. “Did I say something wrong?”_

_“You really_ are _just a kid, aren’t you,” says Soonyoung, sounding choked up. “What a dumbass.”_

_It’s an insult Wonwoo doesn’t feel like he deserves, but something in Soonyoung’s face stops him from protesting it. It’s hard to get that look on his face out of his head after that._


	11. Chapter 11

Living with Soonyoung is a bit different from dating him.

For one thing, there’s less making out involved than he’s originally imagined in his head. Most of the time, he and Soonyoung just end up doing homework or entertaining themselves on their phones or laptops, sometimes spooning each other, sometimes not.

Soonyoung likes to be the big spoon when they’re snuggled up against each other, and he fusses and digs his heels when he doesn’t get his way otherwise. It’s like he’s trying to prove a point, but whatever it is, Wonwoo doesn’t know— he’s only too happy to sink under the toasty warmth of the comforter and let Soonyoung wrap his arms around him while he’s playing with his DS to fall asleep.

In between the end of junior high and the summer of their first year in senior high, Soonyoung hits a growth spurt, and they’re almost at eye-level with each other now, the difference in their heights negligible. Soonyoung tells him it’ll be nice while it lasts, not when Wonwoo’s bound to grow even taller like the tree he actually is, and Wonwoo shakes his head but secretly counts down to the days he eventually does.

In that scant period, Soonyoung’s traveled around once a month, shorter spurts and longer gaps now, like he’s getting a bit of control over his powers, stabilizing. Wonwoo doesn’t point out that the Soonyoung he’s grown accustomed to has never been as young as he is, so it’s either a fluke in his system, or he really _has_ gotten better at it, despite the increasing frequency.

It’s a slip of tongue, though, that causes the hazy peace to fall apart, right as Soonyoung cracks his knuckles and stifles a yawn shortly after coming back from a quick trip to god-knows-what-day in the distant future.

“Is it always this bad for you after you see me?” Wonwoo asks, massaging Soonyoung’s neck— meaning it, now, not like when he’d deliberately dig painfully into the hollow of his neck and shoulder, or when he’d mouth at Soonyoung’s nape while feeling around for his pebbling nipples, relishing in his startled gasp. The muscles in Soonyoung’s upper back are strained, unyielding, but he eventually gives in with a sigh and sags into Wonwoo’s touch, shivering.

“Not all the time,” says Soonyoung, idly. His eyelashes flutter closed, and his head rolls forward like a ragdoll. “It comes with the territory, I guess, but you already know that.”

Not really, but Wonwoo just makes a noise of assent, one that makes Soonyoung grimace and turn to him with an accusing look.

“Oh, come on,” Soonyoung snaps, clearly exasperated. “I already got so much shit for accidentally traveling to you in the future. I don’t need another lecture from _you_.”

Wonwoo just stares at him in surprise, and that seems to be enough to mollify Soonyoung, replacing the testiness with something more akin to embarrassment. Gingerly, he reaches out to hold Wonwoo’s hands in his, thumbs rubbing at the soft skin between his joints.

“I don’t wanna fight with you about this,” says Soonyoung, delicately. “I know it’s the one thing we can never agree on, and even if you keep blaming yourself for it, I don’t regret all those times I’ve met you, Wonwoo-yah.”

He cups Wonwoo’s palm to his chest, lip wobbling as he tries to muster a smile. “It might have been an accident when I was young, but now, I think I know— it was never an accident for me to come to you every time, I think.”

Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just lets Soonyoung climb into his lap and kiss him senseless, distracting him with sugary-sweet words and affection. At the back of his head, though, the thought still lingers, taking form and shaping in his mind like the jagged end of a puzzle piece—

He can’t stop thinking about it.

*

_The causes of genetic mutations are varied and widely theorized, his Biology textbook reads, but the after effects are often long-lasting, if not permanent. While later strains prove to be less susceptible to negative repercussions on the human body, specific mutations have remained enduring in their consequences. In the instance of time travel, for example—_

_Soonyoung slams a palm over his textbook, looming over him. “What are you reading?” He asks, keeping his tone light, the way he usually does when he’s up to no good._

_“Nothing,” says Wonwoo, closing the book to squish Soonyoung’s hand in it. Soonyoung winces and pulls back, shaking his palm to soothe the (clearly exaggerated) pain, and Wonwoo makes a mental note to go back to page 189 again later, just in case he finds something embarrassing to tease Soonyoung with. “I was just learning more about your powers.”_

_“Why on earth would you want to do that?” Soonyoung asks, nose wrinkling. “It’s just boring stuff, kinda like teleportation, except I’m going along a linear timeline instead of point A to point B.”_

_“Lots of people would kill to be able to do that, you know.”_

_“Well, they’re probably dead by now,” says Soonyoung, flippant as ever, and Wonwoo rolls his eyes and opens his book again, only to splutter when Soonyoung plucks it out of his hands and raises it above his head._

_“Hey!”_

_“You don’t need some dumb book to tell you anything you need to know,” says Soonyoung. “I’m right here. You can always ask me.”_

_“Yeah, well, last time I asked you about the birds and the bees, you tried to give me the stork story, and now my grade school teacher still thinks I’m dumb as bricks.”_

_“You were ten years old,” Soonyoung points out. “You’re supposed to ask these embarrassing questions to your parents, not me!”_

_“Okay then,” says Wonwoo. “What about something easy? How did Zhuge Liang die?”_

_Soonyoung scowls. “I refuse to dignify that with an answer. I’m not entertaining your unhealthy obsession with Romance of the Three Kingdoms, you nerd.”_

_“Fine, then. I’ll ask you about yourself.”_

_“My favorite topic,” says Soonyoung, loftily. “Ask away, peon.”_

_“How’d you lose your virginity?” Wonwoo asks, eyes narrowed. “How many times have we done it? What’s your favorite sexual position? And do you prefer fingers, or tongue?”_

_“Never mind,” says Soonyoung, ignoring him. “This conversation is over.”_

_Wonwoo ends up losing the textbook in the flurry of exams and the artful mess Soonyoung manages to single-handedly make in his dorm room, and by the time he manages to unearth it, there are a few pages that have been lost to blots of ink from a malfunctioning fountain pen, the last page he’d read among the victims of his plight._

_“Too bad,” says Soonyoung, not sounding apologetic at all. “I’m sure the intro’s not gonna show up in the test, though.”_

_“If it does, you’re gonna do a lot of explaining to my Bio teacher,” says Wonwoo._

_Thankfully, it doesn’t. Wonwoo donates the textbook to one of his juniors and forgets about it immediately after he gets his final grades. It doesn’t occur to him, afterwards, to find out more about time travel that he doesn’t already know from Soonyoung._

_In retrospect, that’s his first mistake._


	12. Chapter 12

He could have left it alone.

It’s something he thinks about sometimes, on the days it gets bad. Things like: Soonyoung’s evasiveness, his reticence to speak, his fear of disturbing the tenuous balance they’ve fallen into in the year they’ve known this version of each other. They’re all signals that creep up under Wonwoo’s skin, scratching and digging until it reaches, bone-deep. His tendency to fold even when he’s the one that fights back first, quick to temper over reason. His eagerness to find distractions when Wonwoo starts asking questions he shouldn’t be asking.

Wonwoo knows what Soonyoung looks like when he lies. He used to lie all the time when he told Wonwoo he didn’t love snot-nosed brats like him that didn’t listen when they were being scolded. He lied about how he’d meet him. When he’d meet him. Little white lies that meant nothing, then.

This Soonyoung doesn’t know how to lie just yet, can’t hide the openness of his face, the unhappy downturn of his lips whenever he does. As much as Soonyoung feels like the happier, unbothered Wonwoo is some new, foreign thing, the Soonyoung that’s all jagged edges, no semblance of control, transparent is one Wonwoo’s only coming to know now, too. Back then, he’d only learned how to read Soonyoung with his memory, playing and replaying every nuance in his head; now, he doesn’t need to do it. He just knows.

It’s when Wonwoo tries to corner him, to sit him down long enough that Soonyoung chooses flight; he locks himself in the bathroom, storms out of their dorm room, begs off a study session, something, _anything_ , and the next thing Wonwoo knows, it’s the other Soonyoung that’s there, perched on his bed and waiting for him with watchful eyes, tracking his every move like he can tell what it is Wonwoo’s trying to accomplish. Then he sighs, half-bored, half-resigned, and tells Wonwoo to leave it alone before the guilt demons come knocking.

Leave it alone. Don’t leave it alone. Leave it. Don’t. He thinks about it in between his classes, during noon and study breaks, when he’s back at home for the short break, when Soonyoung pulls one of his disappearing acts, anytime he’s apart from Soonyoung; the only thing more persistent and stubborn than Wonwoo himself is his memory, haunting him like an unwanted ghost. Thoughts fly into air and back to his mind’s eye the few times he’s left by himself, no relief, no salve to the knot of anxiety forming in his gut.

He pores over books and tabs when his Soonyoung isn’t looking, devouring scraps of information he can scour. Even when it’s the older Soonyoung in front of him, he’s careful not to let him see too much. He’s not sure what it is that he’s afraid of— judgment? Censure? Disappointment? — but it’s there, ever-present, only no one is talking about it, no one is saying anything.

Lying by omission isn’t bad, Soonyoung’s always said. But why does it feel like it is?

So he checks out books, hiding them with book covers and squeezing them in between the piles of his schoolwork; he keeps his searches saved and scurried away in bookmarks buried deep in folders of academia. And the deeper he digs, the more he learns. The more he learns, the tighter the knot forms, sinking its claws into his gut.

The first thing that settles in is the fear, before the anger; he looks at Soonyoung’s unmade bed, where Soonyoung’s nowhere to be found. He calls his phone, and it rings once. Twice. Then it gets dropped. He paces in his room, pinpricks of dissatisfaction churning low in his stomach. There’s a blind, almost searing pain now, forming in the back of his mind, his neck, the base of his spine as he grinds his teeth and curls his fingers into a fist to keep them from shaking. He closes his eyes, but he can still see it clearly now.

He goes through the stages of grief, jumbled up, anger, first; then denial. Bargaining. Anger again. Denial, denial. Like a loop, he gets stuck.

The door opens, the lock coming undone with a click. He raises his head, and he knows he must look like a madman now. He must. And there, Soonyoung stands in the doorway, carrying a half-melted bag of ice in his palm and cradling his other hand where a bruise has formed, shaped like tiny teeth. He looks at Wonwoo, smile strained and sad, unfurling slowly. He looks exactly the same as Wonwoo remembers him, at seven years old.

“Don’t get mad, Wonwoo-yah,” says Soonyoung, quietly. He reaches out to touch Wonwoo’s cheek slowly, like he would a terrified animal, and when he pulls his hand back, his fingers are wet, damp now. Strange. “You promised you wouldn’t get mad at me.”

*

(Because the truth is: while there are limited cases of reported time travel, not all of them conclusive and infallible in their claims. Of these narratives, however few and far in between they may be, he knows:

 _First_ , that first-party sources rarely provide information of their own volition, and when they do, they often come from letters and keepsakes passed onto their intimate circle.

 _Second_ , that control is non-existent at worse, sporadic at best the closer they approach puberty, and settle somewhere in between their teenage years and adulthood.

 _Third_ , that while there are no recorded cases of death as an immediate result of time travel, its frequent and repeated use may lead to temporal displacement, the symptoms of which include excessive bleeding and fatigue, double vision, dissociative disorders and, in some cases, cerebral hemorrhage.

And, _finally_ — that in terms of the average life expectancy of these individuals, none of them have ever lived past the age of thirty.

None.)

*

_The clinical term for Wonwoo’s mutation is hyperthymesia, and while Wonwoo can remember everything the brochures and the articles say about his condition, it doesn’t mean he understands it. He just knows that he’s very good at remembering a lot of things most people don’t, not even his parents, who, in their forties, Wonwoo’s sure know almost everything there is to know that’s worth knowing._

_He’s grounded for it, for a while— for observation, says the attending physician. House arrest, his dad spits out, face twisting in what Wonwoo later learns is despair, but Wonwoo makes a mental note to look it up in the encyclopedia later. He gets a lot of toys and games to compensate, though, even if they make him look at flashcards and repeat everything he sees back by rote for hours on end. It’s like homework, except there’s no coloring in between the lines, no recess, nothing. It doesn’t last long, maybe a couple of years, and then he’s free to go to school again, just like before. His classmates look at him strangely in recitation or when they get their test results back, some of them muttering things like how he’s cheating or that he’s just a freak like that, and it hurts. He can’t wait to go back home and wait for Soonyoung to come so he can complain all about them and get ice cream for being a good boy, the best boy. Soonyoung’s the only friend he needs now, even if his parents still think he’s just an imaginary friend. It’s a secret only he and Soonyoung need to know._

_Sometimes, Wonwoo gets migraines— long, enduring headaches when he’d stay out too long under the sun, and those days it helped to have one thing to just focus on for hours on end. When it would get too bad whenever Soonyoung’s around, Soonyoung lets him sleep the hurt away, holding him while Wonwoo whimpers and frets over the pounding in his head. And somehow, it doesn’t hurt as much when Soonyoung strokes the back of his head and wipes his tears away; it’s easier to just focus on his knuckles rubbing soothing circles on his brow, as if willing the ache away._

_Maybe Soonyoung’s not just a time traveler, he thinks. Maybe he’s just magical like that, and he tells Soonyoung so._

_“That’s one way of putting it. I’m better at disappearing acts than a magician, that’s for sure,” says Soonyoung. His nails scratch at Wonwoo’s scalp, and Wonwoo’s eyes flutter close. “Does it really hurt that much?”_

_“Always,” says Wonwoo. “It’s not as bad when you’re around, though.”_

_“But what if I have to go away for a long time?”_

_“Then I’ll follow you wherever you go,” says Wonwoo, like it’s simple. “I’ll come find you wherever you are.”_

_“That’s a hard promise to keep, Wonwoo-yah,” says Soonyoung, smile crooked at the edges. “You might not even remember it when you grow up.”_

_“I’m good at remembering lots of things,” says Wonwoo. “The doctor says so.”_

_“I know,” says Soonyoung. He sighs, flicking Wonwoo on the nose. “I wish you’d forget them more sometimes, though, just so you don’t get stuck in your head. You’re kinda scary when that happens.”_

_“Am I that scary when I grow up?”_

_“Terrifying,” says Soonyoung. He presses his forehead to Wonwoo’s, softly. “I’m scared of you every day.”_

_“Why?”_

_“It’s complicated grown-up stuff,” says Soonyoung. “You wouldn’t understand.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because.”_

_“Whyyyy?”_

_“Has anyone ever told you you should stop asking questions?”_

_“Not really,” says Wonwoo. “No one ever talks to me except you.”_

_Soonyoung gives him a strange look, the same look he’s given him since he started whining about the migraines— the surest of signs he can’t bear to leave him alone, no matter how much he sighs over Wonwoo’s clinginess._

_“It’s okay,” says Soonyoung. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’ll just talk to you every day, until it stops hurting.”_

_“What if it never stops hurting?” Wonwoo wonders._

_“Then I’ll stay here with you,” says Soonyoung. Whispers it close to his ear, like it’s a secret. “For as long as it takes.”_


	13. Chapter 13

Wonwoo opens his mouth. Tries to get the words out. Closes it again. Fails.

It takes him a while to realize Soonyoung’s holding him close, cupping the back of his head and holding his face close to his chest while his body shivers and shakes, feeling as heavy and hushed as the white, unending space in his mind. The front of Soonyoung’s shirt is blotted with tears, the cotton doing little to muffle the stuttering gasps from Wonwoo’s mouth as he tries to breathe through the fog.

It’s like the world is shrinking, closing in on him as the knot in his stomach implodes. Soonyoung tells him to breathe, to listen to him, but Wonwoo’s lost, trapped now in a cycle he’s created. Love, he realizes, is a violent thing, taking and taking.

Through it all, Soonyoung holds him, familiar, desperate. Maybe he’d been as lost as Wonwoo, then— he must have been only fifteen, too young to understand the difference between the selfishness of a lonely boy and the gravity of a promise. Maybe he’d just wanted to make up for the things the Wonwoo he’d met had come to terms with so long ago. That same obsession, solid, impermanent— the guilt latches on, and it drowns him.

“It’s okay,” Soonyoung says, his voice muted through the film of cloth that feels like it’s stuck in Wonwoo’s ears. “You’re okay. Everything’s gonna be okay, Wonwoo-yah. I’m not going anywhere.”

*

_He tries to learn how to smoke when he’s fourteen._

_It takes him a while to get used to it— Jihoon keeps telling him he’s inhaling in the wrong pipe, but he gets there eventually, and midterms are spent hiding in the emergency exit praying he wouldn’t get caught as he lights one up with a matchbox he’d stolen from the kitchen._

_The door starts to clatter, though, and Wonwoo nearly jumps when it swings open, even if he was so_ sure _he’d locked it— the excuses on the tip of his tongue die as soon as he sees Soonyoung poke his head through the door, wearing nothing but what looks like a slightly damp t-shirt and joggers. He’s not even wearing anything on his feet. Strange._

_“Wha— Soonyoung?” Wonwoo asks, blinking._

_“Bad night,” says Soonyoung, shortly, before stealing the cigarette from Wonwoo and bringing it to his lips. “This is bad for you, you know.”_

_“I didn’t know you smoked,” says Wonwoo, watching Soonyoung’s lips purse around the cigarette. “What happened?”_

_Soonyoung laughs, but it sounds brittle, exhausted. “You don’t know a lot of things, genius,” he says. He’s fingers are shaking, slightly, and when Wonwoo tries to hold his hand, it’s clammy all over. “God. Tonight sucks.”_

_“Did we fight again?”_

_“No—” Soonyoung mulls it over, then shakes his head. “It wasn’t anything like that. I just wasn’t planning on seeing_ you _tonight, that’s all.”_

_Wonwoo tries not to feel crestfallen at that, but it just clogs up his lungs, making his throat constrict like the smoke from Soonyoung’s mouth. “Did you not want to see me?”_

_Soonyoung’s eyes flash with something that feels like frustration, before he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Wonwoo— you can’t just say things like that all the time,” he says. “You don’t know what you’re even saying, do you?”_

_And it’s then that Wonwoo takes in the sallow shade of his skin, the dark circles under his eyes. The blots and marks on his shirt that look suspiciously like tear tracks. Wonwoo wants to punch himself in the face, again and again._

_“Sorry,” says Wonwoo, voice small._

_Soonyoung takes another drag, before shaking his head. “I swear to god, sometimes talking to you is like shooting myself in the face,” he says, humorlessly._

_“You don’t have to keep coming to see me if you don’t want to,” says Wonwoo, still upset._

_“And now you’re just throwing a tantrum,” Soonyoung observes. He drops the cigarette butt to the ground, not even bothering to grind it under his heel so Wonwoo does it for him, destroying the evidence. “Sorry. It’s just been crazy lately. You’ll understand when you get older.”_

_“Why don’t you just tell me now? Wouldn’t it make sense if we can just skip whatever it is we’re arguing about in the future?”_

_“If it were that easy, we wouldn’t be talking about it right now,” says Soonyoung, sighing._

_Wonwoo stares at him, unsure of what else to say; Soonyoung notices— he always does— and pads over to Wonwoo so they’re face-to-face, close enough for Soonyoung’s lips to hover over his cheek as he presses his palms against Wonwoo’s chest, then slides his hand up and over his collarbones. His shoulders. His back. Wonwoo, dizzyingly, maddeningly, can’t breathe._

_“Say,” says Soonyoung, eyes half-hooded as he looks at Wonwoo, “you’re happy to see me now, aren’t you, Wonwoo?”_

_“Yeah,” Wonwoo croaks out. He rests his palms on Soonyoung’s hips, dragging him closer, the closest they’ve ever come to being intimate like this. “Always.”_

_“Good,” says Soonyoung, sounding relieved as he breathes against Wonwoo’s lips. “That’s all I needed to know.”_

_He hooks his arms around Wonwoo’s nape, dragging him closer until Wonwoo can taste the nicotine on his tongue, and their shadows sink into each other, swallowing them up and slotting neatly into place, like how Wonwoo’s always thought they’d be, fitting together like this._

_Outside, the sky is dark._


	14. Chapter 14

Soonyoung’s gone when Wonwoo wakes up. He doesn’t realize he’s passed out in the middle of his anxiety attack, but he’s in bed with the sheets stripped down and the blankets bunched up in the other bed, keeping him away from anything too constricting. His chest still feels tight, though, even if breathing is a little easier now. He’s still dizzy.

His fingers twitch as he tries to feel around him, but a voice keeps him still, frozen in place. “You might wanna nap a bit more. You were kinda freaking me out.”

Wonwoo turns to face the only other occupant of the room with glassy eyes, and there’s Soonyoung— another version of him Wonwoo’s trying to pinpoint from his mind. Gray hair, dark eyes, later in life, but not late enough. He’s met him at thirteen, called him an old man and driven him away with his petulance. Strange how everything comes full-circle.

“Well, if we’re going by semantics, _I_ can’t really remember a lot about tonight except that it was really bad,” says Soonyoung, scratching his cheek. He’s smiling softly at Wonwoo, familiar and easy. It doesn’t make it easier for Wonwoo to shut him out. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” says Wonwoo, voice cracking. He looks at the ceiling, staring fixedly at the white wall. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m not supposed to give you life advice either, but here I am,” says Soonyoung, shrugging.

“I don’t need advice from someone who’s practically trying to kill himself every time he uses his powers,” says Wonwoo, unable to keep the bite out of his tone. Soonyoung doesn’t even flinch.

“Guess you finally found out, huh?” Soonyoung asks, but he doesn’t sound sad about it, no. Just resigned. “I told you not to ask questions you’re not prepared to have answers to.”

“You conveniently left that last part out, just like you never told me what was happening to you.” Wonwoo has to blink many times to keep the dampness out of his eyes, making his vision blurry; it hurts. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I was planning to.”

“When? Tomorrow? In a week? A month? A year?” Soonyoung says nothing. “When you’re dead?”

“I’m still here, Wonwoo-yah,” says Soonyoung. “I’m still alive.”

“For how long, though?”

“I don’t know,” says Soonyoung. “You and I never really got around to talking about it when I was younger.”

“Were you dead then?”

“You wouldn’t tell me. I figured I could have been, though.”

“Is that why you always said I looked different?”

“What am I supposed to say?” Soonyoung asks, sounding irritated. “ _Hey, older Wonwoo, not to freak you out or anything, but how long do I have left to live, by any chance?_ Is that what you wanted to hear, Wonwoo? Because I can tell you now, it’s a lot harder for me to come to terms with the fact that I’m probably _dead_ when you’re not even in your forties yet. You have no right to be angry at _me_ for being scared.”

“I’m not angry that you met me in the future,” says Wonwoo, palms coming up to cover his eyes. He presses down until he can see white spots behind his eyelids, blinding. “I’m angry that you kept coming to see me back then, _over and over again_ , and you _knew_ it was going to kill you. And you never said anything.” He sits up, turning to Soonyoung with his eyes burning from strain as he climbs out of bed. “What kind of fucking idiot does that?”

“Yeah, well, _I’m_ that fucking idiot,” says Soonyoung, standing up to meet Wonwoo’s stare and jabbing a finger at his chest. “I don’t regret it— I don’t regret _anything_ — and I’d do it again even if you hated me for it, so fuck you!”

He’s breathing hard by the time he ends his tirade, and Wonwoo’s struck, suddenly, by how small Soonyoung looks now even as he keeps pounding his fists against Wonwoo’s chest in frustration. How different he looks, tired and fraying at the edges. And through the anger, Wonwoo recognizes that same desperation, the plea in it. He just doesn’t understand.

“Why?” Wonwoo asks, a warble in his throat. Soonyoung’s hands stop, resting right above his collarbones. “Why won’t you just let it go?”

When he looks at Wonwoo, Soonyoung looks as gutted as Wonwoo feels, lost. It just makes Wonwoo feel even worse.

“You asked me to see you again,” says Soonyoung, watery. “How could I say no?”

“I wish you didn’t,” says Wonwoo. He takes Soonyoung’s wrists in his own hands, cupping them close to his lips, and Soonyoung’s scowl splinters and cracks. He scrunches up his face, crying now. “God, I wish I didn’t meet you then.”

“I couldn’t leave you alone, though,” says Soonyoung. “You’ve taken care of me so much all that time, and I— I know I didn’t give you enough time—”

“Stop,” says Wonwoo. He closes his eyes. “Just stop now. Please.”

Soonyoung pulls away from him then, turning away from Wonwoo to wipe at his face with the back of his hand. Head bowed, shaking, he looks young, maybe not even older than thirty. Maybe even barely twenty, too. Wonwoo wants to press his forehead against his back, to backhug him and never let him go like he’d wanted to in a train station, so long ago. So long, and it’s still clear in his mind. It’s still there.

It’s easier to just lie and tell Soonyoung it’s okay, that nothing will change and that he doesn’t mind seeing him again and again if it means he’ll live on borrowed time. It’s easier to be selfish and to ask, plaintively, if he could stay with him forever, right here, right now. It’s easier, but—

It’s not right.

“I don't want you to see me anymore,” he finally musters the courage to say, when Soonyoung’s sniffles have subsided and he can look at Soonyoung with steady eyes again. “This will be the last time you travel back to see me.”

Soonyoung snorts, sounding more deprecating than insulting. “A little hard to do, considering I’m still the same person you’re with all the time.”

“He’s not you,” says Wonwoo. “Not right now.”

“Okay,” says Soonyoung, finally. “Whatever you want, Wonwoo.”

He bites the inside of his cheek and takes a step closer. One more time. One more time to be selfish, he thinks, and holds Soonyoung so tightly he can feel him sag into his touch.

“Don’t come back,” says Wonwoo, voice muffled against Soonyoung’s back. “I won’t forgive you if you do.”

Soonyoung’s quiet for a beat, like he’s thinking of what to say. So many things Wonwoo wants to hear from him, and he’s never given away much, never let him know more than what he needed to know. He’s just been a fixture of Wonwoo’s home, slotting neatly into place as easily as he flits in and out of his life. Instant noodles on the stove top. Video games he doesn’t know how to properly play. Pet funerals. Ice cream for lunch. Movies they never watched to the end. Laundry. Sheets. Homework. Mistakes.

Smoke rings. Kisses in the dark. Tears, so many tears. Temporary salves to wounds he’d nursed and worked open, again and again.

His eyes hurt again, and his hands shake as Soonyoung puts his palms over them, steadying his fingers close to his heart.

“Goodbye, Wonwoo-yah,” he says, locking their fingers together for the last time. “Let’s be happy in the future.”

*

_Static, and— nothing, now._

_That’s the last time._


	15. Chapter 15

There’s a lot of different ways to miss someone.

Sometimes, when Wonwoo goes through his SNS feed on his phone, he’ll see something that reminds him of Soonyoung growing up. His cousin’s daughter is at that age where she’s constantly exposed to Disney movies now, and Junhui’s been crying over Hachiko for a better part of the weekend with Jihoon taking a video of everything and laughing at him bawling in front of his laptop. One of his clubmates still in junior high asks for answers to a worksheet he has no idea how to solve, and a throwback post about old video games and consoles starts trending in the region.

They’re things he doesn’t share with his Soonyoung— not that they ever talk about it. But from the grubby stains of ice cream on Soonyoung’s shirt, the scent of soil and grass stains on his knees, he knows there are some things he’s learning about Wonwoo now. It makes something in his heart tremble, before snapping quietly into place. And when Soonyoung gives him a tentative, warbling grin, Wonwoo gives him a tight smile in return and hands him a cup of coffee.

Soonyoung writes him a list, eventually. From when he was a kid until the last time he’d seen Wonwoo, he has everything recorded, dates and locations to the best of his memory and— well. Wonwoo’s, too. Most of it is Wonwoo’s.

“You helped me with a lot of these before,” he says, and Wonwoo doesn’t even need to ask to know what he means. “I— I was so scared all the time when I was younger. But you found me, every time.” He taps his pen against the surface of the table, before adding, tone deceptively light, “You really weren’t lying about that.”

“I don’t break promises,” he says. He touches the back of Soonyoung’s hand with his own, trying to memorize how it feels in his hand. The texture. The shape. How Soonyoung burns hot, even in the coldness of the café. “I wish it didn’t have to happen, but it can’t be helped.”

Soonyoung’s face falls slightly at that, still a little overly sensitive when Wonwoo can be tactless, and Wonwoo tries to rectify it with a joke. “I can’t wait to see you as a kid, though. I bet you were a lot cuter back then than you are right now.”

“Fuck off, I’m still cute,” Soonyoung protests, and kicks Wonwoo under the table until Wonwoo places a hand on his thigh to still him, laughing with his nose scrunching up and his teeth showing, wide and bright and happy.

There are questions still in the corners of Wonwoo’s mind, creeping up on him when he least expects it. Will Soonyoung be okay? Was that really the last time he’ll ever see him again? Is there some sort of future where Soonyoung will just disappear into the air and never come back, just like all of the paranoid imaginings the Wonwoo his Soonyoung knows better probably harbors close to his heart?

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get answers to any of them— doesn’t even know if he wants them. It doesn’t matter right now, though, he thinks. As much as he misses all the parts of the Soonyoung he’d grown up with, there’s no room for regrets, now.

And this Soonyoung is achingly lovely, too, with his scrunched up nose, the belligerent set of his mouth. The pout of his lips that Wonwoo wants to kiss, again and again— his, and all his, right here, right now.

It should be enough.

*

_There’s a strange sound in the playground near the convenience store outside the campus grounds, and if Wonwoo weren’t passing by with a plastic bag full of crackers and instant noodles for Soonyoung, he would never have noticed anything out of the ordinary on his way back to the dorms._

_As it is, though, he checks his phone, unlocking the screen with the pin code of Soonyoung’s birthday. October 15th, seven-fifty in the evening, the date and time stamp says, right next to the warning that his battery is at 16%. He pockets his phone and makes his way to the sandbox._

_He pretends to be looking around for a stray cat, making coaxing noises for an imaginary animal when a hiccupping sob comes from inside the concrete Cat Bus near the swings. He pauses for a moment, looking around. Then he creeps closer to the Cat Bus, peeking inside._

_There’s a little kid in nothing but what looks to be a blanket stolen from a nearby laundry hamper shivering inside, and he looks like he’s been crying for a better part of the hour now. He’s shaking like a leaf, small eyes narrow and red-rimmed, and when Wonwoo takes a step forward, he shrinks into the corner of the Cat Bus, whimpering._

_“Shhh,” says Wonwoo, holding his hands up. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you, don’t worry.”_

_The kid makes a terrified noise at the back of his throat, closing his eyes and turning away. He can’t look older than five, and it makes Wonwoo’s heart ache to see him._

_Pushing down the tightness in his throat, Wonwoo tries again, softening his tone. “I know you’re scared, but you need to trust me, okay?” The kid presses his palms to his ears, whimpering softly. “Soonyoung-ah, please listen to me. I’m here to help you, I promise.”_

_The boy— Soonyoung— cocks his head up at the sound of his name, and he looks at Wonwoo with wide, wet eyes, lower lip wobbling. “Y-you know who I am?” He asks, tone suspicious— Soonyoung’s mother must have taught him well. She must have, out of love and terror all at once, and Wonwoo’s breath catches._

_“Yeah,” says Wonwoo, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I know who you are. And I know what you’re doing here, too. You’re a time traveler, aren’t you?”_

_Soonyoung opens his mouth, speechless. “H-how—”_

_“I’m Jeon Wonwoo,” says Wonwoo, crouching down and holding his hand out as he waits for Soonyoung to emerge, meekly, from his cave, “and we’re gonna be really good friends from now on, Soonyoung-ah.”_

**Author's Note:**

> my darling muti, this is probably not what you completely had in mind, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless UvU


End file.
